


Greatest Journey

by kireteiru



Series: Never Forget [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Also Moriarty is Sauron, F/M, Fellowship of the Ring, How Do I Tag, John is Bilbo, M/M, Sherlock is Smaug is Gostir, hobbit parties, just FYI, we're getting there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 18:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kireteiru/pseuds/kireteiru
Summary: “Home is behind, the world ahead, / And there are many paths to tread / Through shadows to the edge of night, / Until the stars are all alight.” - The Lord of the Rings, J R R Tolkien





	1. Second Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise, it's me. A long time, I know. A lot happened, but I won't bore you all with the details, because you came for the story. Onward!

Frodo was sitting beneath a brilliantly green tree in the Eastfarthing of the Shire, reading a book, when he heard someone singing. He looked up, and then jumped to his feet, smiling when he recognized the voice and racing toward the road.

Gandalf only loosely held the reins of his wagon as it trundled through the fields while he sang. “Down from the door where it began… And I must follow if I can… The road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began, Now far ahead the road has gone, And I must follow if I can…” He stopped as the hobbit ran up to the roadside.

Frodo crossed his arms and said, “You’re late.”

“A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins,” he said resolutely, “Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.” He gave Frodo with a stern look, then softened with laughter.

Frodo jumped into the Maia’s arms with a cry of “It’s wonderful to see you, Gandalf!”

“You didn’t think I’d miss your Uncle Bilbo’s birthday?”

The hobbit swung down to sit next to him on the seat, sighing happily. The wizard pulled his pipe from his robes and began smoking, snapping the reins to spur the horse into motion. “So, how is the old rascal? I hear it’s going to be a party of special magnificence.”

“You know Bilbo,” Frodo chuckled, “He’s got the whole place in an uproar.”

“Well, that should please him.”

“Half the Shire’s been invited. And the rest of them are turning up anyway.”

Both of them laughed at that, the wagon rolling past Hobbits hard at work in the fields, then over a small stone bridge over a stream and into the Hobbiton town square, making their way towards Bag End. At last, Frodo continued, “To tell you the truth, Bilbo’s been a bit odd lately. I mean, more than usual.” When he noticed that the wizard was listening intently, he went on, “He’s taken to locking himself in his study. He spends hours and hours poring over old maps when he thinks I’m not looking. He’s up to something.”

Gandalf hummed and gave Frodo a sideways glance. The hobbit glanced back at him, waiting for him to answer, but the wizard just looked away, acting uncomprehending.

“All right, then. Keep your secrets.”

“What?”

“I know you have something to do with it.”

“Good gracious me,” said the wizard.

“Before you came along, we Bagginses were very well thought of,” the hobbit said with mock sternness, “Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected.”

“If you’re referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved,” said the wizard, “All I did was give your uncle a little nudge out of the door.”

“We all know that’s a load of shit, Gandalf.”

Frodo whipped around at the unexpected voice from the back of the wagon. A tall elfin figure was lying in the back atop the covered contents, dark hair spread over the tarp. “You threw a dwarf dance party at his house without his permission,” he continued without opening his eyes.

“Uncle Gostir!” the hobbit said delightedly, grinning widely at the sight of him, “You’re back!”

“So I am,” he hummed.

They rattled past a hobbit hole with a grumpy hobbit working in the garden. The hobbit’s grumpiness did nothing to dissuade the hobbit children that ran after the wagon, cheering. They whined in disappointment as he drove along, pretending not to notice them. But then a blast of fireworks went off from the rear of the wagon, barely stirring the elf. The hobbit children clapped their hands and cheered, making the wizard chuckle.

“Gandalf?” Frodo began, “I’m glad you’re back.”

“So am I, dear boy! So am I.”

Frodo jumped from the carriage and bade farewell to the wizard and elf, who continued on to Bag End. Gandalf stopped in front of the gate, where a sign declared, ‘No Admittance Except on Party Business.’ He swung down and walked up to the door, knocking on it with his staff while the elf hopped down from the back.

From inside, a wavering voice shouted, “No thank you! We don’t want any more visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations!”

“And what about very old friends?” the wizard called.

There was shuffling from within, and then Bilbo – stooped and withered and using a cane but still strong enough – pulled open the door. “Gandalf?”

“Bilbo Baggins!” the wizard said cheerfully, and knelt to embrace him.

“My dear Gandalf!” he replied, and stepped into his arms.

“Good to see you. One hundred and eleven years old! Who would believe it?” He pulled back and examined the lines of age heavy on the hobbit’s face, smiling sadly.

Bilbo returned the smile with equal sadness. When he spotted Gostir, his smile both brightened and faded all at once: happy to see him, but knowing why he left – and what he’d brought back with him. The elderly hobbit ushered them all inside and closed the door behind them. It was only then that the dark-haired elf knelt before him, amber eyes nearly glowing in the dim light of the entryway.

They stared into one another’s eyes for several long minutes. Then at last they embraced tightly, Bilbo shivering in the dragon’s arms. He could feel the touch of the Ring, concealed somewhere on his person, but Gostir – Smaug – was stronger than it, for the moment at least. He would hold it, until it was time. Even so, the dragon said, “It is only for a month.”

“I know.”

“I will be with you the entire time.” Then, with possessiveness characteristic of dragons when speaking of their hoards, “I will not let it take you from me.”

“I know,” Bilbo said again, but still he shuddered and shied away as soon as he could.

Gostir straightened, and hung up his cloak and Gandalf’s hat, moving with surprising ease despite having to stoop to fit his tall frame in the smial.

“Tea?” Bilbo called back to them, already shuffling towards the kitchen, “Or maybe something a little stronger? I’ve got a few bottles of the Old Winyard left; 1296, very good year. Almost as old as I am! Hahaha! It was laid down by my father. What say we open one, eh?”

“Just tea, thank you,” Gandalf called after him.

“I do not think it wise for me to become intoxicated so soon after my return,” the dragon hummed from somewhere else inside the smial, doubtless his little hoard-room in the far back of the hill, where he hid the treasures he couldn’t bear to part with. “I will have tea, also. I miss Earl Grey, though.”

“So do I, Gostir,” Bilbo responded, bustling around the kitchen as much as he could at his age, “And I was expecting you two sometime last week. Not that it matters. You both come and go as you please, always have and always will. You caught me a bit unprepared, I’m afraid. We’ve got cold chicken and a bit of pickle… there’s some cheese here. - Oh, no it won’t do. We’ve got raspberry jam, an apple tart… But not much for afters – Oh, no, we’re all right. I’ve just found some sponge cake. I could make you some eggs if you’d like- Oh. Gandalf? Gostir?” He limped back into the study to look for the wizard and dragon.

Gandalf peered into the study from the kitchen behind Bilbo. “Just tea, thank you,” he repeated.

“Oh, right,” the hobbit said, nodding, “You don’t mind if I eat, do you? I only have the appetite for small snacks now, so I try to eat as often as I can.”

“No, not at all,” the wizard answered.

“Even if you’re not hungry, you should force yourself to eat.” Gostir intentionally made noise when he rejoined them in the kitchen after ascertaining that none of his treasure had been tampered with. Bilbo’s heart wasn’t what it used to be. “You have a long journey ahead of you,” he continued.

“I know that!” the hobbit protested, tapping the dragon on the chest with his cane, “But I’m old, Gostir. My body isn’t what it used to be.”

“Is that Lobelia?”

There was sharp rapping on the door of the smial, and a woman’s shrill voice reached their ears. “Bilbo! Bilbo Baggins!” she demanded, even as the hobbit in question scrambled to hide himself behind the dragon, “I know you’re in there!”

“I’m not at home!” he gasped, “It’s the Sackville-Bagginses. They’re after the house. They’ve never forgiven me for living this long, even in the state I’m in now. I’ve got to get away from these confounded relatives hanging on the bell all day. They never give me a moment’s peace! I want to see mountains again. Mountains, Gandalf! And then go back to Rivendell so I can finish my book. Oh, tea!” Bilbo hobbled over to the hearth with a potholder and lifted the water off the fire, turning to carry it to the table before Gostir took it from his hands.

“You mean to go through with your plan, then,” said Gandalf, lifting the lid of the teapot so Gostir could pour the water inside.

“Yes, yes. It’s all in hand. All the arrangements are made. The others should be right behind you.” 

“Frodo suspects something.”

“Of course he does; he’s a Baggins!” the elderly hobbit hmphed, “Not some block-headed Bracegirdle from Hardbottle. “

“You will tell him, won’t you?” the wizard asked, “He’s very fond of you.”

“I know. He’d probably come with me if I asked him. Maybe even if I didn’t, the way he mothers me. But I think in his heart, Frodo’s still in love with the Shire. The woods, the fields. Little rivers. I am old, Gandalf. This time I look it, and I can feel it in my heart.” His eyes strayed to the dragon before he realized what he was doing. When he noticed, he quickly looked away, accepting the cup of tea from Gostir. “I need a holiday. A very long holiday. And I don’t expect I shall return. In fact, I mean not to.”

* * *

 

Eventually, the three of them retired to sit outside Bag End in the light of the setting sun, wizard and hobbit with pipes in their mouths. The smial looked out over the field where the party was to be held, tents being raised and lanterns lit as the daylight faded.

“Old Toby. The finest weed in the Southfarthing,” Bilbo hummed, “I never understood why people smoked in the Old World until I started doing it here.”

“Nicotine addiction.”

“I know that, too, Gostir,” the hobbit chuckled, “but it’s one thing to know it with your mind. It’s another thing entirely to experience it for yourself. Have you tried…?”

“A few times. It doesn’t affect me.”

“That’s a shame. I’m sure this is better than anything we had then.”  He blew a ring of smoke.

Gandalf smiled and exhaled a ship of smoke, sending it sailing through the smoke ring that Bilbo made.

“Gandalf, Gostir, my old friends, this will be a night to remember.”


	2. Advent

Practically everyone living near Bag End was invited to the party, and many hobbits from other parts of the Shire were, too. Presents were given away (for hobbits give gifts to others on their birthdays), food was eaten, drinks were drunk, and dances were performed. Bilbo and even Gostir told stories of the former’s adventures in the east, helping to reclaim a mountain for its king, who was even older than Bilbo if not nearly so aged. Gandalf had brought some of his most magnificent fireworks for Bilbo’s party, much to the delight of all the hobbits, even those who’d shaken their heads at him not so long ago. Just after sunset, the wizard began a spectacular show  – flowering fields, tall forests, and twittering birds, red thunderstorms and yellow rain, and last but not least, an image of Erebor wrought in dark smoke, and a Smaug of red sparks that swooped over the party before flying over the nearby Bywater River and bursting into a shower of golden flakes very like coin, signaling suppertime. (The Smaug firework was actually set off by Merry and Pippen, who were given dishwashing detail as punishment for their prank.)

The one hundred and forty-four people invited to sit at the high table with the Bagginses themselves and Bilbo’s partner, the strange and elfin being known only as “Gostir,” ate a fine meal indeed, fine enough that they were willing to indulge any speech Bilbo was prepared to give. At last he rose and called, “My dear people!” to much cheering. When they settled down enough for him to speak again, he continued, “My dear Bagginses and Boffins, and Tooks and Brandybucks, and Grubbs and Chubbs, and Burrowses, Hornblowers, Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses, and Proudfoots-“

“Proud _feet_!” one of them called.

“ _Proudfoots_ ,” Bilbo repeated, “And also my good Sackville-Bagginses that I welcome back at last to Bag End. Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday – I am eleventy-one today!” The hobbit couldn’t help but grin when he saw Gostir flinch and mutter under his breath, as he did every time someone said it like that in his hearing. “I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am!”

There were cries of “yes” (and “no”), and a flurry of notes from musical instruments gained from crackers pulled by the younger hobbits. Bilbo indulged them for a minute or two, and Gostir used the cover provided to quietly slip the Ring into the elderly hobbit’s pocket. When the distraction turned into an impromptu dance party, the elderly hobbit grabbed a horn very like a vuvuzela from a young hobbit nearby and blew a few short blasts on it to regain their attention.

“I shall not keep you long,” he promised the assembly, using his best officer’s voice, “I have called you together for a Purpose.” Something about the way he said it conveyed the capitalization and commanded attention, though it had been a long time indeed since he had actively ordered any soldiers. “Indeed, for three purposes! First, to tell you that I am immensely fond of you all, and that eleventy-one years are too few to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits. I don’t know half of you nearly as well as I would like.

“Secondly, to celebrate my birthday – I should say, _our_ birthday. For it is, of course, also the birthday of my nephew and heir, Frodo! He comes of age and into his inheritance today.

“It is also, if I may be allowed to refer to ancient history, the anniversary of my arrival by barrel at Esgaroth on the Long Lake, though the fact that it was my birthday slipped my mind. I was only fifty-one then, and it did not seem nearly so important as _this_ birthday, so thank you very much for coming to this party.

“Thirdly and finally, I wish to make an announcement. As some of you may have noticed, I said that Frodo is coming into his inheritance. This is because I am leaving the Shire, for the last time. As I said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to spend among you, but the time is ripe for one last Great Adventure! I bid you all a very fond farewell!”

He stepped down and slipped on the Ring, seeming to vanish from sight. As expected, Gandalf created a flash of light, and right before it burst, Gostir closed and covered his eyes. While the other hobbits were still blinking to clear their eyes, he rose from his chair and vanished into the darkness around the party field, following his hobbit to Bag End.

Though he still could not see him, he could hear him whimpering, “It won’t come off, it won’t come off!” He managed to catch the other man and hold him still for a long minute, then felt down along his arm to his hand, then to the finger he sought and eased the Ring off. Bilbo sighed in relief as he became visible again and sagged into his embrace.

Both took a moment to breathe, then resumed moving. Bilbo put away his party clothes and donned the mithril mail, then his traveling gear, old and well-worn, buckling Sting onto his waist. Gostir gathered the last of what the hobbit intended to take with him: the manuscript for the Red Book of Westmarch (better known as _The Hobbit_ in their Old World), a few sets of clothes, and medicines made for the hobbit by the elves.

Bilbo put the finishing touches on his letter to Frodo, put the Ring inside, addressed it, and put it on the mantelpiece. Yet as he turned to go, seemingly without his knowledge, his hand picked up the letter and made to put it in his pocket.

Gostir was watching for just such an eventuality, and caught his wrist before he could tuck it away. Bilbo noticed then, and flinched again as he always did when he became aware of its hold on him. The letter with its Ring slipped from his grasp and hit the ground without bouncing, with a thud that had the weight of the world behind it.

The hobbit turned away from it, and buried his face in the dragon’s blazing hot chest.

They were still in that position several minutes later, when Gandalf entered Bag End. He saw the lay of the room, them together and the Ring on the floor, and guessed (correctly) what had happened. “Come, Bilbo,” he said gently, “It’s time.”

There would be no flying for this journey, no matter how glorious it was to see Middle-earth from the sky. Instead, some of the dwarves of Erebor had come with a cart lined thick with straw and bedding, to take him along the route he had walked and ridden and swum to the Lonely Mountain one last time, to bid all of his friends farewell. Then it would be back to Rivendell, to wait. To watch and to wait, and to finish the Red Book with the whole truth inside it. _This_ Bilbo Baggins was no creature of the Ring, trying to legitimize his claim to it.

Gostir picked up the box and put it on the mantle, and then laid a hand on the hobbit’s back and led him out to where the cart was waiting.

Tauriel’s sons were at its foot, ready to help Bilbo up. They were handsome and yet seemed odd to look at, for they had their fathers’ height and coloring, but their mother’s slender elvish build and strength, with the faintest touch of red fire in their hair when the light hit them right.

The dragon climbed into the cart first, and then with him in front and the boys in back, they got the old hobbit up and settled on the bedding. One of them climbed into the back with them, while the other went up front to sit with the driver. He snapped the reigns, and as they rolled away into the night, Bilbo leaned his head against his faintly smiling lover’s shoulder and hummed,

 _“The Road goes ever on and on,_  
Down from the door where it began.  
Now far ahead the Road has gone,  
And I must follow, if I can,  
Pursuing it with eager feet,  
Until it joins some larger way,  
Where many paths and errands meet.  
And whither then? I cannot say.”

* * *

Frodo returned to Bag End not long after, and found the letter still on the floor and the wizard sitting inside and murmuring to himself too low to hear. He stooped to pick up the envelope before approaching the wizard. “He has gone, then?” the hobbit said.

That seemed to stir Gandalf from his thoughts and muttering. “Yes, he has.”

Frodo sighed. “I wish – I mean, I had hoped that he was only joking, but I think I knew in my heart that he meant to go. I wish I had come back sooner, to see him off, at least.”

“I think he preferred it this way,” the wizard said to him, “but don’t trouble yourself too much. Sma- that is, your Uncle Gostir has gone with him, and wherever he travels he will be among friends.”

He did not mention the small detachment of Elves and dwarves waiting on the edge of the Shire for him, or the even larger one that was poised to remain and secretly guard the borders from certain potential Unwelcome Intruders. The Council of the Ring, as Smaug had taken to calling them all, was leaving nothing to chance. Neither could the wizard.

“Where are you going?” Frodo asked when Gandalf nearly leaped to his feet and went for his hat and staff.

“There are things that I must see to, more than just making sure Bilbo’s road to Rivendell is clear,” he answered.

“Things? What things?”

“Questions, questions that need answers from only a handful of people that can give them, and certain individuals that must be detained,” the wizard said. He pressed his hat to his head. “The Ring your uncle has left you – be _very_ careful with it, Frodo. It is one of the Rings of Power from ages past, and there are many who would seek to take it from you, if they knew you had it. Keep it secret, keep it safe. Speak of it to no one until I return.”

“I will,” the hobbit vowed, “But, but Gandalf, I don’t understand-”

“Neither do I,” the wizard answered honestly, “but that Ring is safer nowhere than here with you. Guard it well.”


End file.
